Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The simplicity of routine was something that had become a rare resource to Din over the years. He’d not had the luxury of waking with the knowledge of just how his day was going to go since he’d been in training in the fighting corps. Even then, the Tribe had been constantly moving, the Covert being shifted from one planet to another as the Empire got too close. The past year had been even worse for it. The small amount of routine Din had - hunting a bounty, paying his tithe to the Tribe, returning out to the hunt - had been entirely uprooted by being on the run.

Since their return to Nevarro and thorough routing of the Imps though, things had settled down. Din had been granted the rare luxury of settling into a pattern, simple and satisfying.

Cooking breakfast with Paz and eating with Kotep. A quick patrol around the sewers while Paz ate his own meal. Checking with the Armorer to see if his assistance was needed. Joining Kuiil and IG in working on the Crest, a break for Cara to join them for a lunch Din would eat after everyone else had done. Routine, simple and satisfying. A comfort in the company he kept and the certainty he felt that he and his son had the security of community. Of friends and family.

There had been peace on Sargon. But with it had come conflict and uncertainty. Separated from his people, facing Omera’s gentle coaxing to turn his back on his Creed, he’d been just as on edge as he’d been at ease in the quiet village. Back at the Covert though, even abandoned, there was only the sense of belonging . There still was danger in the universe, still those that would try and hunt down him and his son, but he had the assurance that his people - his Tribe and his adopted Clan - would be at his side, ready to aid him however he needed. He wouldn’t need to sacrifice the life he led - the life he’d come to love - for the comfort of knowing his son would be cared for and protected.

“Buir. Boo-eer.” 

Kotep stood on Din’s knee, hands wrapped around each of Din’s index fingers to help keep himself balanced as Paz urged him to repeat his words. Seeing the larger Mandalorian hunched over as he was to be as close to eye level with Kotep. Din tried not to be too endeared by the sight, though it was difficult when Paz gently took one of Kotep’s hands and gave it a gentle jiggle, trying to get the toddler to pay attention. Not that Din would say as much. Cara’s teasing had been more ruthless than ever upon learning he and Paz were sharing a room, and he’d rather not give her any more ammo to use against him. 

Paz’s voice was slow and clear as he spoke, head tilted to try and meet Kotep’s gaze a little easier. “You can do it ad’ika , come on. Buir. ”

Kotep bounced from where he perched on Din’s knee, ears perked and eyes bright as he stared at the larger Mandalorian before him. “Bah!” He crowed loudly, letting go of Paz’s hand and swatting at Din as if to indicate that Din was, in fact, Kotep’s Buir . “Bah!”

Din chuckled, tickling the toddler’s ribs with his free hand  to pull a delighted babble from his son. “Think that’s the closest you’ve gotten.” He remarked, tilting his head to watch as Paz shifted on the floor before him, one large arm moving to rest on a folded knee. The other Mandalorian shook his head before reaching out to tweak Kotep’s nose, delighting the toddler even further and making him look all the more endearing. 

It was an excellent thing Cara wasn’t there. She always seemed to know when he was more smitten than usual by Paz, his Helmet be damned.

As it was, those quiet hours before bed had become another routine that he’d settled into in the short weeks since returning to Nevarro. He and Paz settling down after dinner, sitting together and passing the time before turning in to their respective beds. Entertaining Kotep with games stories, sharing the load of trying to teach the little one what they could of the Way while he was so young. Working together to try and lull the toddler to sleep each night as Kotep fussed and fought to stay away and part of their nightly talks. It was perhaps his favorite part of the day, getting to unwind and languish in Paz’s company.

“He seems to understand everything.” Paz said, watching as Kotep turned and began climbing up Din’s chest, intent on claiming the place on his father’s shoulder. “It’s odd that he’s so quiet though. All three of Vali’s were a bit late talking, but they still made a lot more noise than he does. Even Yassa was more vocal.”

He wasn’t wrong, Din considered as he steadied his son on his shoulder. Paz’s youngest niece Yassa - half Zabrak and all Vizla even as a toddler of three - had experienced some difficulty picking up words. A factor the Tribe doctor had eventually pinned down as an issue with the child’s vocal chords that - with some arrangements with a local hospital - had been resolved. Even then Yassa had never stopped trying to repeat the sounds the adults in her life were encouraging her to make, or making a ruckus in general.

A heavy weight settled in Din’s chest as he considered the possible reasons. The years and years his son lived before Din had found him. The haunted, cautious look the little one had given him the first time they’d seen each other. Din didn’t know the specifics of the history Kotep had lived, but he could guess. 

And those guesses kept him up at night, more often than not. 

Children from such backgrounds tended to be too quiet. Either too afraid of the repercussions of making noise or too used to being ignored when they cried out for what they needed. Din remembered a few Foundlings taken in by the Tribe over the years that had such histories. They needed special care and gentle attention. Needed assurances often that they were safe and cared for, that their needs were priority.

Kotep had moved so that he was standing, balanced on his father’s shoulder as he held on to Din’s Helm for balance. Din could see his son’s small fingers splayed from the corner of his vizor, tiny claws tapping against the metal as he tried to find purchase on his father’s helm and maintain his balance on Din’s shoulder. Din brought a hand up to steady his son, wondering at how small Kotep was, how terrifyingly fragile.

One of Paz’s legs shifted, his booted foot nudging against the side of Din’s leg, pulling his attention back down to the other Mandalorian. He could see from the lines of Paz’s shoulders that his friend had followed the same path of thought. A moment of silence fell between them before Paz shifted again, voice soft as he said, “Might be something about his species.” He nodded his head towards Din’s son, “He’s getting the care he needs Din, but only time will tell if him being quiet is from what he experienced before you took him in or if his biology just doesn’t let him make the sounds we can.” Paz shifted on the floor before Din, adjusting so that his legs stretched out before him bracketing Din’s body as he leaned forward, moving to set a comforting hand on Din’s knee. “When the new Covert is established you can talk with Fenrir, you know he’ll be happy to help.”

Din allowed Paz’s words to settle the knot that was winding uncomfortably in his chest, dropping the hand not balancing Kotep atop of Paz’s. Fenrir - Paz’s older brother - was skilled at tending to Foundling’s with traumatic backgrounds. He’d been trained for the task alongside the Tribe healer, and had a hand in helping a number of their members with their experiences. He’d offered to help Din more than once over the years, but he’d always turned the oldest Vizla down. There was too much history between them, too much weight for Din to feel comfortable sharing. Maybe one day, perhaps after he was more certain Kotep would be alright, but not just yet.

His son made a soft noise, tilting to try and peer past Din’s visor with faintly drooping ears. Too perceptive by half of Din’s mood at any given time, though whether that was the nature of his magic or some innate ability of his son Din had yet to figure out. Either way, he hated to see his son worried on his behalf and fought hard to force down the well of uncomfortable emotions settled in his chest. 

Instead he readjusted his hold on the little one, curling his fingers into his son’s new clothes and using his leverage to scoop him up and lower him down in the space between he and Paz. “Here,” He said, gently offering his son to the other Mandalorian. “I have an idea.”

Paz gathered the child up without question, shifting his place on the floor as Din slipped down from the cot to join him. His legs pressed against Paz’s a little more firmly, and he allowed himself the brief moment to relish the comfort Paz’s presence provided. In his friend’s arms, his son’s ears perked, face pulling into a smile as he seemed to read the warmth swirling in his father’s chest. Din leaned a little more into the idea that his son’s sorcery was giving him more insight into Din’s emotions than most children had of their parent’s moods.

“Kotep.” He said, forcing himself to focus less on Paz and more on the idea that had sprouted. Paz adjusted the child in his arms, shifting to ensure that the little one was facing Din. When large dark eyes were on him Din made a slow motion with his hand, tucking his pinky and ring fingers against his palm to keep them out of the way. “Can you do this with your hands?” 

He repeated the sign again, slower, making sure that his son could see what he was doing. The word for Father in Viidaav sign language, one of the few species with the same number of fingers his son had that also had their own form of sign. Paz settled the child on the ground between them and they watched as Kotep stared curiously at his father’s hands. After a moment, small clawed hands lifted and - slowly, awkwardly - followed the motion. Both adults watched as the child’s ears perked, his attention focused, trying hard to follow the movements hif father was making. Paz gently made a small adjustment, and after a moment the child made the sign well enough to be understood.

“ Ori’jate! ” Paz said, bouncing the little one happily, electing a happy trill from the child. Din could hear the smile beneath the other man’s helm. Kotep chirped happily at the cheer while Din gently tweaked his son’s nose. 

“That means Buir. ” Din explained, watching as his son looked thoughtfully from Din’s hands to his own. After a moment Kotep made the motion again, ears rising so high Din thought they might hurt as he broke into a wide, sharp toothed grin. “There you go, that what was perfect ad’ika! ” He said, warmth and pride filling his voice and rolling over him like a wave. His son trilled excitedly, making the sign again, then - as if to prove he did understand what it meant - pointed triumphantly at Din. 

He shuffled forward, forcing Paz to adjust to accommodate how close they were seated on the floor. Laying his hands over where Paz was cradling his son, he bowed to press his forehead against Kotep’s. His son reached up to press his hands against the cool beskar of his helm, cooing happily at the sign of affection. After a moment he rose again, flushing as he realized how much he had been invading Paz’s personal space.

There’d been a time when personal space hadn’t been a factor for them. They’d lounge over one another in down time between training, sleep curled up in a shared bed. Paz, equal parts obnoxious and endearing, would take advantage of his great height to use Din to lean on, resting his elbow - and his entire weight - on Din’s shoulder. Din would use Paz a step ladder in retaliation. The antagonism that had slowly grown between them over the years had put an end to it, but the short weeks of staying in Nevarro - staying with Paz - had been all that was needed to bring back those habits of casual touches and blatant personal space invasion.

Din shifted back, swallowing the urge to clear his throat and shuffled a little awkwardly in place instead. Kotep trilled from his place in Paz’s lap, head tilted as he watched Din. His hands came up, making the sign again and Din felt a smile pull at his lips.

He turned his attention up at Paz. “You were better with Viidaav signing than I was. Care to help me teach him some more?”

Paz gave a soft, warm chuckle, a gloved hand moving to run down one of Kotep’s large ears. “I think that can be done.” He nodded to the cot behind Din, “But let’s get off the floor, I ain’t made for this shit anymore.”

Din smiled widely beneath his helm, even as he got to his feet and helped haul Paz to his. “Didn’t realize you’d turned into an old man on me. Helmet does wonders to hide all that grey huh?” The comment earned him a short jab to the shoulder, but there was no pain and he could see Paz’s humor in the way he shook his head. It was good, being able to tease and joke again. He’d forgotten how much he missed it. How much he missed Paz.

Those were dangerous thoughts, down a long path that Din was old enough to know better than to trip down. Paz Vizla was many things, strong, capable, a warrior of the finest calabar and wonderfully kind and gentle to children - and most importantly to Din’s son. But he was not, Din knew full well, interested . Enough pining in his foolish youth had taught him that. Best to focus on the miracle of their revitalized friendship and not ruin it with any unwanted emotions from Din and his too-soft, lovesick heart.

They settled themselves on Paz’s more sturdy cot, turned to face each other, each with a knee drawn up and bumping against each other in the limited space. Kotep was settled in the small section of cot between them, still repeating the sign he’d been taught happily. Buir, buir, buir . The little one trilled excitedly, bright eyes turning up to Din as he proudly moved his small hands. Paz carefully adjusted the sleeves of the oversized pajamas Kotep wore - a gift from Greef, part of the man’s ongoing apology for all the bounty hunters sent after them and the near betrayal. 

Kotep trilled and turned his attention towards Paz, ears perked happily as he reached out to pat at Paz’s knee. Not an official sign, but something the child Din when he wanted someone to know his attention was on them, his random babbles directed to them alone. Kotep had taken to Paz quickly after their return to Nevarro, a fact that Din was as grateful for as he was warmed by. Paz had always been good with the Foundlings of the Tribe, but seeing him with Kotep - a mountain of a man, one of the fiercest and most deadly of the Tribe look so soft and gentle as he cradled the little one - it warmed Din all the way through and made his heart squeeze in a way that was best not to think about too much. 

Friends was more than enough, friends with Paz was worth the world, the galaxy. Din didn’t need anything else, and wouldn’t risk the treasure of having Paz as his companion again for any prize.

Kotep repeated his sign again. Buir . Then, with both hands Din watched as his son reached out, patting his and Paz’s knee adamantly. Buir he signed, pointing at Din with a delighted smile. Then another adamant pat on their knees as he turned his attention to Paz. Buir , he signed again, little hand moving to point at Paz. Buir.

And oh...

Oh.

Paz’s head shot up in time with Din’s, their hidden gazes locked on each other as Kotep’s point was made loud and clear. Buir . The child signed, trilling happily as he patted both of them. Not just naming Din his father, but Paz as well.

Cara was absolutely not going to let Din live it down when she found out.

Chapter Text

Mornings in the abandoned Covert were usually quiet and easy. Over the past weeks Paz had become used to being slowly led from sleep by the soft hush of Din’s voice as the other spoke the daily remembrance to his Helm. Paz had learned long ago the treasure of one so quiet and reserved as Din speaking freely, and had grown used to languishing in the sound of Din’s voice unfiltered by the modulation of the Helm.

That morning was different.

Paz was awake long before he heard Din moving about on his side of the room behind the curtain that separated them. Sleep had been so elusive as to not come at all and Paz had eventually had surrendered to the thrum of energy that was keeping him up. Instead of laying and staring at the curved ceiling of the room he set himself on the task of doing thorough maintenance on his armor and what weapons he had on hand. Allowing himself to be lost in the intricacies of breaking his cannon down to it’s smallest nuts and bolts, cleaning every nook and cranny before reassembling it.

Din’s voice was softer than it was normally, more a whisper than anything. Paz pulled his helmet on and rose to his feet, leaving their shared quarters behind and tried hard not to feel like he was running away. He was, of course, and he hated every second of it.

He made the sweep of the tunnels he normally made when patrolling, then a few other side routes besides just to be thorough. Telling himself that he wasn’t dragging his feet or taking longer than usual, that he wasn’t avoiding the other Mandalorian. He was giving Din a chance to speak with his son alone, and not trying to dodge the conversation he knew they were going to have to have in the wake of the... revelation... of just how Kotep saw him and Din from the night before.

He walked the perimeter twice and even went as far as the lava river before doubling back. He needed the time to think. To get a handle on the night before, to get a handle on himself and the many indiscretions he’d been allowing himself to indulge in over the past weeks. Time to consider the fact that Kotep’s simple, honest proclamation had undoubtedly made Din all too aware of what Paz had been doing, what advantages he’d been taking since their return to Nevarro.

It had all been going so well was the thing. Before he’d allowed himself to give into stupid and selfish desires.

He and Din had been falling back into the friendship they’d once nearly lost, sliding into the worn familiarity of each other’s company like it was old times. The year Din had been away had been good for them both. Din’s running from Imps and protecting a Foundling, his slow growing into the role of father . Those experiences had broken down the cold walls Paz had seen his friend build up in the wake of Darrow Djarin’s death. The distance and time letting Paz reflect on what they had become, the path that had brought them there. Coming to the realization that losing Din would hurt no matter what, and being the one to push him away was only going to make the pain worse, not better.

When Din returned to Nevarro, when Din stayed - with the Foundry, with the Armorer, with Paz - it had been a new start, a new chance at the friendship that had died between them. And as the weeks had passed, he’d been content with the quiet ease the days passed by. A growing hope for the future when the Covert would be remade and he and Din would accompany the Armorer and the Forge to their new home. He’d imagined the delight the Tribe would have at seeing Din’s tiny son, their excitement at the prospect of welcoming a new Foundling into the fold. Looked forward to introducing Kotep to Vali’s children, the idea of the little one playing and growing up with Paz’s nieces and nephews seeping warmth into his chest.

Then he’d found himself sliding into a place that had not quite been made for him, a position in Din’s clan that he’d not been invited to take. It’d been such a simple thing, so easy and natural that Paz had almost not noticed as it happened. It didn’t take long for him to settle into it, the stolen sense of companionship and belonging, to start dreaming and hoping of not just occupying that place at Din’s side but belonging there.

Those hopes seemed further than ever, though, when Kotep had made his bright, guileless proclamation the night before. Not that the child had known any of that, or could even comprehend what he’d done. As smart as Kotep was, he was still only a child, not much more than a toddler. The intricacies of the adult world with all it’s tight rope walking of what was and wasn’t said, of things felt but not shared, of lines understood but never drawn.

Paz had convinced himself at first that having Din as a friend, a brother in arms, was enough. Not all that he wanted, but more than he needed in order to get by happy in life. Then he’d allowed himself to think that permitting himself the stolen moments he’d taken, unnoticed by Din, was okay. 

Kotep had brought to light things that Paz had been avoiding, things he’d been, not hiding , exactly, but not advertising either.

Watching as Kotep moved his small hands to repeat the sign Din had taught him had relief and pride flooding Paz’s chest in equal measures. The ad’ika looking bright eyed and excited as he was able to communicate properly for the first time had been a boon to Paz’s soul. Seeing Din in that moment, the other man’s frame - always strung too-tight, worry and anxiety for his son, for being a good father, a good provider for the Tribe, constantly swirling within him - relaxing as they sat there watching the child. Din allowing himself the moment of joy at having done right by his son. It had been a good moment, one of those memories Paz knew he’d keep with him during the hard times, taken out and looked at fondly when nights were long and lonely.

Then, though, Kotep had turned those big eyes on Paz. Pointed and called him a name that was not Paz’s to be called.

The relaxed air of the night had died a quiet, agonized death at that point. He and Din awkward and uncertain of just how to handle the situation. Paz aware, very suddenly, of everything he’d been doing for the past weeks. What rolls he’d been filling that he had not been called on to fill. Had Kotep been an older child it would have been easier, both to explain the child’s misunderstanding and brush Paz’s own impropriety from scrutiny. A quick explanation, the outline of who was Buir and who was just a family friend. Kotep was too young though, he’d not understand the intricacies of such a thing. To a toddler Buir was a feeling, a sense of who cared for them, who looked after and tended to their needs. There was no telling a toddler that someone they saw as a parent wasn’t. They wouldn’t understand, couldn’t .

Raising children was communal in Tribes, Foundlings were the future and it was all hands on deck to ensure that children were properly cared for. Paz could reasonably be expected to help keep an eye on the toddler, keep him fed, keep him entertained, keep him healthy and above all else keep him safe. And he had done so without a thought. It was the Way. It was normal and expected of a friend and Tribesman.

Paz, not a member of Din’s Clan, helping Din teach his son the Resol’nare was not .

Nor was much of the routine he and Din had been sharing for the past weeks, not really. Sharing the task of preparing meals, aiding in the maintenance of each other’s armor, sharing memories of those lost. These things were within the bounds of friendship, but when coupled with the sharing of a room  - even one separated by a curtain - and the blatant co-parenting Paz had been partaking in...it cast a different light on things. Slanted friendship into something else, something more intimate than what Din had likely intended.

Paz had known, even though he’d been fairly sure Din hadn’t been aware. He’d been almost married once, back when he and Din hadn’t been on pleasant terms. It had never quite worked out - Paz too stubborn and too hung up on someone that had never been his to be hung up on - and besides that he’d courted or been courted by others over the years. Din, solitary and often cut off from most of the Tribe in any sense other than that of a Hunter giving tithes, had avoided the intricacies of romance and courtship. To the best of Paz’s knowledge, while he’d been fumbling his way from one unsuccessful relationship to another, Din had been out the black, alone and focused on his self imposed challenge of single handedly providing for the Tribe.

It was shame, more than anything, that had Paz calling it a night and ushering Din and his son off to their side of their Quarters before any kind of conversation could be had. Shame that he’d taken advantage of Din’s easy nature and lack of knowledge in relationships. Shame that he’d allowed himself the comfort of the almost without taking for account what effects that could have on Din or his son. Shame that had him skulking out of his room to do a long winding patrol he didn’t normally do for far longer than it needed to be so that he could avoid Din for as long as he could.

Shame that brought him to hover just outside the Foundry, hands clenching and unclenching at his side as he tried to force himself inside to face the Armorer. Just what he needed to do to fix the mess he’d unintentionally caused for Din and his son he didn’t know, but as with all things he knew that the Armorer would be able to guide him. Though, he’d admit, he was not looking forward to the disappointed slant of her Helm that he knew he’d find when he explained himself. 

“I imagine you would prefer not to shout your grievances to me from out there.” A familiar cool voice called out to him after a time. He couldn’t see her from where he stood, just to the side of the Foundry entrance, but he knew she was looking unerringly in his direction. “Uncertainty doesn’t suit you Paz Vizla, come in and sit down.”

He took a breath and forced himself to step inside at that, unable and unwilling to disregaurd an order from the Tribe’s Alor . He’d put it off too long as it was, and forcing the Armorer to wait wouldn’t help anything.

The heat of the Foundry was heavy and oppressive when faced in full armor, his brow already prickling with sweat from the high temperature as he strode in. How the Tribe Matriarch could stand it while also wearing the heavy fur of a Dire Cat was beyond him. As was how she always seemed to know just what the members of the Tribe seeking her out were thinking.

He paused a few steps into the Foundry, surprised to see that the Armorer wasn’t alone. Seated across from her before the forge was Kuiil, the Ugnaught’s bright green eyes sharp as he turned his attention on Paz’s larger frame. Between the two lay what looked like schematics to the Razor Crest. Considering the last time the two had worked together they’d crafted the war tank of a cradle that Kotep currently slept in, Paz thought it a terrifying - but not bad - idea that they put their minds to improving the old ship. Din would have a fit over the idea of them using resources on something for him rather than for the rest of the Tribe - he hated the idea of something being squandered on him, in his words. As if he’d not been the soul provider for the Tribe for five years, and the main provider of their tithes for at least ten years before that. 

Din.

He needed to speak to the Armorer, try and get clarity, see what advice she could give him to make repairs. And he wasn’t entirely keen on doing so before a member of Din’s Aliit Burc’ya. Let alone Kuiil who might as well be Din’s Buir at that point. As tiny and ancient Kuiil was, Paz had no doubt that the Ugnaught had the heart of a Mandalorian in him and would not hesitate to take any harm done to Din out on the perpetrator. If not with strength and warrior skill, than with his sharp mind and array of deadly creations.

Paz shifted on his feet, nodding his head in greeting to the Ugnaught before turning his attention on the Tribe Matriarch. “I was hoping to seek your guidance this morning.” He said, trying hard not to let too much of the turmoil rolling in him creep into his voice.

He watched as the Armorer tilted her head, felt the way that her unseen eyes were looking him over. She read everyone else with such ease, but even when she’d been a child and Paz could see her face she’d been entirely inscrutable. Unable to do anything else he stood and waited, to either be told when to come back or where to sit while she finished up with Kuiil before turning her full attention on him.

He was not prepared for the Ugnaught to chuckle, a grin on the old man’s face as he turned to better look at Paz. “You having trouble with the little one?” He asked, then after a pause added, a knowing slant to his smile. “Or perhaps with Din?” 

Anger and aggression was an old armor for Paz. Worn in and familiar, a good barrier between him and the kind of vulnerability Beskar couldn’t guard against. He had it tugged on and ready before he even properly realized it. “My business with the Tribe Matriarch has nothing to do with you aruetii .” He snapped, fists clenched at his side and voice low and sharp. 

Had Kuiil been someone else - had he worn a Helm and walked the Path - Paz would have antagonized him into a full brawl. As it was, the Ughnaught was old and, Clan to Din though he might be, was not of the Tribe entirely. A sharp reminder of that fact was the best Paz could do to try and distract the Ugnaught and himself from how very close to the mark the old engineer had gotten. He tried hard not to think of how his sister Vali would have his head for being cruel to someone who’d only ever helped and never harmed, or the low disappointed sigh his brother would have given at Paz falling back on old, unhelpful habits.

Instead of upset or insult though, Kuiil only seemed amused, chuckling faintly and shaking his head. “Come now, it can’t be that bad.” He said, motioning to Paz to take the empty seat that remained at the low table where he and the Armorer sat. “Forgive me if I am not terribly intimidated. I’m afraid I’m reminded a little too much of how my youngest would bristle when she got her feelings hurt. Like a wet loth cat, all hackles and hissing.” 

Paz was about to snap back at that, irritation and embarrassment making his tongue sharper than usual, but was cut off by the low noise the Armorer made. It sounded like a low, amused chuckle. Which was all the warning Paz needed to try and pull himself back in line. Kuiil and the Armorer had become fast friends after first meeting, and while he might forget himself enough to try and pick a fight with one of Din’s Clan, he was not stupid enough to cause trouble for a friend of the Tribe’s Matriarch especially not in front of her. Paz was foolish and reckless when angry, but even then he knew a battle he wasn’t prepared to fight.

“Take a seat,” The Armorer said, “I imagine you are here for the same reason Din Djarin seemed so out of sorts this morning.”

Out of sorts . 

A vague description that could mean anything from a bit distracted to in a murderous rampage. 

Paz had heard the Armorer use that same wording before to convey the condition a Foundling had been in after getting their head stuck in a bannister. Which could indicate that no harm was done and he had no real reason to worry. Then again she’d also described herself as “out of sorts” while recounting the state she’d been after her first solo trip out of the Covert as a teenager. A story that concluded with her dragging herself back to her Forge a week later, bleeding out and near delusional from infection after fighting and killing three fully grown Dire Cats.

Paz decided at length that trying to dissect Din Djarin’s mood off a single off handed sentence from the Armorer was only a road towards madness and a bad sign for where his own head was. 

He took the seat offered to him stiffly instead. Kuiil, apparently entirely unphased by both Paz’s earlier vitriol and the large Mandalorian’s usually intimidating self in general, reached out and gave a comforting pat to Paz’s arm. Paz tried, just the once, to leash his instinctive temper and instead scrambled to remember some of the tips his brother Fenrir so often tried to get him to use instead. 

Breathing was one, he remembered after a beat, and he gave in and tried focusing on that rather than the urge to lash out at the Ugnaught who seemed to be able to see to the heart of things so clearly.

It really was no wonder Kuiil and the Armorer got along so well.

They sat like that for a while. Paz silently counting each breath and watching mutely as the Armorer and Kuiil made adjustments to the schematics, jotting notes and ideas down on changes they’d like to make. His intention had been to wait for Kuiil to leave, but the longer he sat, the longer he let the burn of anger ebb, the more his earlier anxiety over the situation crept in. The fact that he didn’t know where Din or his son were or when he might run into them next didn’t help the unease creeping at the back of his neck or the twisting of his stomach.

“The child called me Buir last night.” He said, a little dazed. He hadn’t fully realized that he was speaking until the words had already left him. He’d cut off the Armorer as she’d been making a suggestion about ground security for the Crest. She and Kuiil both had turned to look at him, silence settling heavily over the Foundry.

Kuiil’s eyes looked bright as he asked, “Kotep spoke?” There was such bright, grandfatherly warmth in the man as he asked the question. The plans for the Razor Crest were forgotten as he focused on what he clearly saw as the most important part of Paz’s statement.

Paz shifted, “Signed.” He said softly, “Din was teaching him last night.” The warmth didn’t leave the Ughnaught’s eyes though, the pride for the child’s accomplishment clear to see.

“And he called you Buir? ” The Armorer asked, her voice oddly pointed.

At Paz’s slow nod Kuiil’s delighted face shifted. The Ughnaught made a grumbling kind of hmm , leaning back in his seat as he began to frown. Paz, ready to hash it out and have a fight with the Ugnaught not twenty minutes before, felt the color drain from his face at the apparent disapproval of the man that had been acting much like a father to Din Djarin since Paz had met him. He was about ready to get to his feet and leave any semblance of pride be damned, when Kuiil gave a sigh that almost sounded pouty before pulling out a few creds from his pocket and sliding them over to the Armorer with a low grumble of “ He couldn’t have waited another week?”

The Armorer gave another low chuckle, taking the credits and pocketing them. “I know my Tribe.” She said to him, voice light and calm but with a hint of something that Paz almost would say sounded like bragging . She turned her attention to Paz. “Our apologies Paz, we have had a wager going and it seems as if we have finally seen it settled. Congratulations on being bestowed such an honor.”

Paz felt, somehow, worse at her reaction.

“But I’m not his Buir .” He said, voice a little wild despite his best efforts. For any other situation he would have worried about how apparent his loss of composure was. At the moment all he could think of was the still, awkward silence that had filled the room he and Din had shared, the overwhelming shame of how he’d so thoroughly intruded, had taken advantage.

“You look after him, care for him and are with him more times than not providing comfort and love.” Kuiil said, casually. “He learned a word for what that means and used it. Children are like that.”

The Armorer nodded, “He is correct. I see no reason why you should take issue with Kotep calling you Buir , especially with you two sharing quarters. It happens often with Foundlings, especially young ones. I myself called my mentor Buir upon occasion when I was first brought into the Tribe.”  She tilted her head thoughtfully then, and from behind her visor Paz knew her gaze was locked unwaveringly upon him. “Unless perhaps there is more to the situation?”

Paz swallowed, gaze turning to Kuiil before dropping to the table before him. Neither could see from behind his Helm, but he felt as if they knew anyway. He curled his hands around his knees, tried counting again. It didn’t help. His stomach soured.

“I’ve aided Din Djarin in teaching his son the Resol’nare.” He started, aware of the Armorer sitting up straighter at the admission, her movements slow and precise. Her posture, as always, gave away nothing of her thoughts. “And I have acted with more familiarity than is proper, knowing what I was doing and that that Din wasn’t aware of the implications of that familiarity.”

The Ugnaught settled his elbow on the table and leaned forward, his face showing only mild confusion at Paz’s words. A sign that Din had not yet broken down all the intricacies of Mandalorian customs to the Ugnaught just yet. For someone not of the Creed, it must have seemed a strange thing to be so worried over. Simple child rearing and the slow slide from friendship into a place a bit blurrier. For Mandalorians it was no small matter though. Nothing was more important than family, and an intrusion on the bonds between a Clan was a heavy thing indeed. Paz had not crossed any lines outright, but he’d allowed himself dangerously close.

The Armorer gave a soft sigh.

“What a terribly drawn out and complicated way of saying such a simple thing.” She said at length. She looked to Kuiil, the Ugnaught still looking lost in the conversation. Paz prayed she’d send him off so he could get his lashing in peace and they could move on to how best he could fix the mess he’d made.  His prayers were ignored. “Paz and Din have been, unintentionally at least on Din’s behalf from what Paz says, behaving much in the way spouses would. Paz was aware of their behavior but made no attempt to make a change or discuss it with Din.”

Kuiil blinked at that, a slow considering look coming to his face. Paz wanted very much for the Foundry floor to give way beneath him and swallow him whole. He trusted the Armorer implicity, he could not follow her otherwise, but he didn’t know what logic would bring her to allow Kuiil to remain during what normally would have been a private conversation.

“Not your best step lad,” Kuiil said, turning his bright green eyes on Paz. A small hand patted at Paz’s shoulder again, fatherly and gentle. It was a bit overwhelming. “But nothing that can’t be resolved. Din likely has figured it out by now, but it’s not too late for you two to have a good talk about it all and get this sorted.”

“ Get this sorted? ” Paz repeated, utterly bewildered by how very simple the Ugnaught made it sound. “I’ve taken advantage of him, I’ve insinuated myself into this family and made his son grant me an honor I have no right to. How in the seven hells am I meant to get this sorted? ”

He wasn’t yelling - not quite at least - though was near enough to it. Kuiil was kindly and capable, but his place in Din’s Clan was that of an outsider slowly being invited in. He had no context for what Paz’s actions meant to the Mandalorians around him.

The Armorer was silent for a long moment as she watched them speak. Posture immaculate, Helm gleaming golden in the low light of the Foundry and the brightly burning Forge behind her. She was the Keeper of the Way, the Matriarch of the Clan, and Leader of their Tribe. She was Mandokarla down to the very depths of her soul. She understood what Paz was admitting to, and the insult he’d visited upon Din Djarin and his Clan.

She turned her attention to him, and Paz prepared himself as best he could for her words.

“Paz.” She said, slow and precise, as if trying to be absolutely certain he understood what she was telling him. “You have been flirting with Din Djarin and helping him raise his son. Not partaking in a Clan destroying play of espionage.”

He was not, as it turned out, prepared enough.

Her voice sounded as cool as ever, though an underlying current of exasperation was easy to hear. Kuiil looked like he was trying hard not to laugh, forcing a not very convincing cough into his hand as he politely looked away. Paz felt very much like throwing himself into the open maw of her forge, and only stopped when he considered how irritated the Armorer would be at having to scrub his melted remains out. He would have greatly preferred her raking him over the coals to this . The Armorer pushed on, headless of how Paz’s cheeks burned or the faint squeak of distress he’d made at her initial assessment. 

“Seek Din out and speak on the matter so that the air is cleared. Explain your behavior and let him make his own mind up on the matter.” She instructed firmly. Then she leaned back with a kind of casualness that shot a surge of pure terror down Paz’s spine so powerful he nearly bolted from the room then and there. The Armorer only looked casual when she was about to go for the throat and knew her target had no possible defense.

“From there,” She added, voice dangerous with faint hints of delight, “Courtship should be a fine next step.”

Chapter Text

Something was up.

It’d been the first thing Cara had thought as she stepped onto the Razor Crest, expecting to see Kuiil and IG at work optimizing the old ship and instead finding the Droid settled before an oddly quiet Kotep while Din moved around the Crest’s galley, looking more like a caged animal than a man in the midst of cooking breakfast. His shoulders were tense, his stance shifting as if preparing for a fight to break out at any moment. Cara had only really seen him that disquieted when his kid was in trouble, all those overwhelming paternal Mandalorian instincts going on overdrive.

Kotep was fine though, settled in the battle tank of a crib that had been made for him as he gnawed on a teething toy and watched his father cook. The child’s ears drooped a little when he looked at his father, but it struck Cara more as the quiet of a toddler recently rising from sleep rather than any indication of being upset. Besides, Din would have reached out to her and IG over the comms if anything had happened, and he absolutely would not have left the Covert with it’s protected winding tunnels and his two fellow Mandalorians present for backup.

So not Gideon after the kid again. Something else had him wound up.

She strode up to where IG and Kotep were settled, reaching down to run a hand over the kid’s head in a soft greeting before turning her attention to the cooking Mandalorian. She felt her eyes and nose burning faintly from the fumes wafting from the pot on the stove, her body conflicted between hunger and a fight or flight response at the smell. It smelled delicious, but heavy with the memory of just what that burning hellscape of a Din’s cooking was like to try and eat.

“ Kriff , is that more of that fucking toxic shit you made before?” She asked, scowling at the pot Din had been tending to. She could see a collection of spices lined up on the small counter space, all but confirming her fears. “I thought you weren’t going to make that anymore after you almost killed Kuiil.”

“I didn’t almost kill Kuiil.” Din grunted, “And I’m not making Tiingilar . Not wasting anything that good on you again after last time.” He turned to glance over at her for a moment before adding, “I’m making some porridge. It should be nice and mild for you.”

Cara thought that a particularly audacious statement coming from the Mandalorian as she watched him add a bowl of a spice so dangerously red she could feel her tongue burn just looking at it to the pot. She let him have it though, even as her nose scrunched at the sight of Din shaking in a heavy dose of yet another spice into the so-called porridge. 

Instead she glanced to IG, finding the droid had shifted his visual sensors so most of them were settled on Din. He looked oddly concerned as he stared at the Mandalorian. How a droid with no face to have facial expressions looked concerned, she didn’t know. That didn’t change the fact that IG looked worried, and that with his various medical scanners he had a better handle on Din’s mood than anyone.

She took a seat at the small galley table, kicking her feet up on the empty chair beside her as she looked Din over. Tense but still talking. There was something to his cooking though. He’d done it before, during the trip to Nevarro, as a thank you that had gone horribly, horribly wrong after she and Kuiil learned first hand how spicy Mandalorians like their food. At the time she’d taken it at face value that he’d just wanted to offer his thanks for them joining him on his venture, though watching him now she considered that perhaps there was something more to it than simply cooking for the sake of food. 

She’d seen the food he kept on the ship, and for the most part it came down to bland but serviceable ration packs. There had been enough fresher things though to support her growing theory. He had stowed away the kind of groceries that could store for a while but weren’t as reliable as a ration bar when it came to being out in the black for months at a time, more expensive too. Food that was more a splurge than anything, something she didn’t see Din doing all that much, even with a little one to look after. As a form of stress relief though, she could see it working.

Not as good as a fight in her opinion but a solid option for someone who spent a lot of time on their own with long hours to fill between one bounty and another. Especially for someone who thought that much spice in a porridge meant it could be considered mild . Bland ration bars would have been hell on someone who enjoyed variety and spice as much as the Mandalorians seemed to.

Din Djarin cooked when he was nervous, she considered. Now, to figure out just what he was nervous about.

Someone else, someone like Omera or maybe even Kuiil, would have tried coaxing it out of him. Din was quiet at the best of times and usually unwilling to get personal with most people. But Cara wasn’t the type to dance around something. She saw a problem, she cut to the heart of it - or shot it, whatever. And besides, she considered as she reached up to fiddle with the Mudhorn pendant she wore - she wasn’t most people anymore. She was, in Din’s own words, Clan .

“What happened?” She asked, watching as Din’s hands paused over his work. He’d pulled his gloves off at some point while cooking and she saw them tucked into his belt, orange tips of the fingers bright against the dark fabric of his tunic. It was an odd juxtaposition to see him like that, covered from head to foot in tough fabric and gleaming armor, with his two bare human hands exposed to the world. Omera and a good number of other members of the Krill farms probably would have had heart palpitations at the sight. Cara could only think of how strangely vulnerable her friend looked, how much trust even that small glimpse of him implied.

Din began stirring the porridge again, not looking at her as he said “Nothing happened.”

His voice, even modulated, said otherwise. Cara looked to IG, one brow raised. The Droid moved, lifting the little one out of his cradle and taking a seat across from her at the table, Kotep balanced in his metallic lap. Somehow she felt the same exasperated disbelief she was feeling coming off him as well.

“Right.” Cara said, “You’re stress cooking because everything is fine. Clearly.” At the stove Din gave a long, irritated sigh but remained focused on his task. She considered what could have changed from the day before, Then thought on the fact that he was in the Crest cooking and being irritable rather than down in the old Covert. “Something happen with the Big Guy?” 

That did get him to finally look over at her. She was starting to suspect that it was from him that IG had learned how to emote so much without a visible expression. Cara was confident in saying that she’d never seen a helmet with such a bitch face in her life. She flashed a grin at him, more teeth than smile at his irritation, it was all the confirmation she needed. Across from her, IG made a faint clicking wire as he made his attention on Din more apparent.

“Paz Vizla is the origin of your distress?” He asked, and Cara could hear the faint warning in the droid’s synthetic voice. IG, for all the shit Din put him through when they’d found out about him back at Kuiil’s, had only grown more mother hen like when it came to Din over the past weeks. Cara suspected it had to do with how very close to dying Din had been during the battle with the Imps. Or the small moment the two had shared on the river lava when IG was preparing to sacrifice himself to save them. Either way, Paz was in for a hail of blasterfire if he’d pulled any stupid stunts. 

Though Cara doubted it would come down to that. Paz, from what she’d seen of him, was as gone on Din as her friend  was on the larger Mando. Half the fun of razzing Din on his feelings for the Big Guy was the fact that it was so clear that those feelings were returned and that the two were just being too ridiculous to do anything about it. She’d known from the beginning that, eventually, her impatience would win out over her amusement and she’d end up knocking some sense into her friend, but she’d figured that was a couple weeks off yet.

“No.” Din snapped, then after a beat, “Not really, er. Maybe? I don’t...it’s just.” He floundered, turning his attention to pulling the pot of porridge off the heat, nearly knocking over the collection of spices lined up on the counter next to him as he did. He stood there for a moment, taking a breath and staring down at the food he’d made. Cara could practically see him weighing the options on whether he wanted to tell them what had him so wound up. After a beat he started moving to collect dishes, a soft sigh leaving him as he settled on his decision.

“We were teaching Kotep how to sign last night.” He began, and Cara glanced over to the little on in question to see the toddler’s ears perk at his name. IG similarly turned his attention on the toddler, one metallic hand moving to pat the child’s head gently. Kotep cooed at the attention, looking far more adorable than anything so powerful had a right to be.

Cara grinned at the little one before turning her attention back to Din. “Not a bad idea.” She said, “You’re going to need to teach me along with him. I never did pick up many languages over the years.” As Din strode over to the table and began setting bowls of porridge down she asked, “I take it that it was during this little lesson something happened?”

Din didn’t say anything for a long moment as he took his seat and began the arduous process of keeping his son from diving into the still hot bowl of porridge. Cara was about to kick him lightly in the shin to get him talking again when the Mandalorian haltingly continued. “Paz has been helping a lot, with Kotep.” He started, sounding like each word took effort to speak. “I wasn’t...I wasn’t paying as much attention as I should have and making things clear to the kid…”

Cara blinked at that, head tilting as she considered the statement. IG, trying - and largely failing - to keep Kotep from burying himself face first into the bowl of porridge while Din stirred it lightly to try and cool it fasted, spoke up. “Did the child attempt to use his abilities on Paz Vizla as he did with Cara before?”

“No, nothing like that.” Din said and Cara fought the urge to reach up and touch her neck at the reminder of just what the kid could do when he wanted. The memory of phantom hands wrapping around her throat, cutting off her airways a heavy weight. Nightmares were a factor of life for her anyway, but they’d been worse after that experience. She’d tried not to hold it against the kid, though she’d admit that sometimes when she saw him moving his toys around without touching them, she felt a sting of anxiety.

She cleared her throat, grabbing a spoon and scraping up some of her likely too-hot breakfast she asked, “So what happened then?”

Din poked at Kotep’s porridge with one of the small baby spoons they’d bought at the market, the utensil comically tiny in his large hands. He was quiet as he began spooning small bites of the cooled porridge to his son. The silence went long enough that Cara really did kick him that time, though not enough to actually cause him any pain. 

He grunted at her, avoiding her gaze as he muttered a low, “He called Paz Buir. ”

It took a moment for Cara to parse what he said, then a moment longer for her to remember just what Buir meant.

Then she laughed.

Din’s shoulders slumped under the weight of her delight, one hand coming up to cradle his helmeted head as the baby - mouth full of food and unaware of the cause of Cara’s amusement - laughed along. Without caring about the fact that the little one’s hands were coated with the sticky, spicy porridge he’d grabbed from the bowl when his father failed to feed him fast enough she reached over and gave the kid a high five. Kotep’s oversized ears rose as his mouth stretched wide in a sloppy smile, babbling happily. Damn if the gremlin wasn’t cute though.

“Oh,” IG said, the earlier warning notes gone entirely as his programing processed Din’s words. The droid turned his visual sensors from Cara to Din, looking far more self satisfied than an emotional IG unit had any right to be. “Things are going well then.”

Cara moved to slap Din on the back, the bits of porridge Kotep had transferred to her hand smearing bright and orange over the dark fabric of Din’s cloak as she did. No wonder he’d been stress cooking, as bad as Din was with emotions he probably needed to get as much energy out as possible after the kid swooped in and offered such solid wingman-ing. “About damn time! Figures it would take the kid to get you two to finally get your shit together.” She grinned widely as she leaned back in her seat, “I can’t even imagine how much the Big Guy must have loved that.”

“Neither can I.” Din grumbled, turning his attention back on scrapping up porridge and looking - Cara blinked. Din didn’t have the air of a man who finally got his romantic life sorted with the person he’d been mooning over for - from what the Armorer had said - literal decades. He looked put out, almost defeated .

“Wait.” She said, feeling a growing sense of bewilderment because there was no way in hell . “Wait you aren’t telling me that he wasn’t okay with that?” Cara turned her attention from the mopey looking Din up towards IG who was turning his head from her to Din and back again in a loss. Din didn’t straighten up and tell them it was a joke and it was all fine. Just gently grabbed a napkin to wipe the porridge off Kotep’s chubby cheeks. “Paz, Paz Vizla , wasn’t okay with the kid - your adorable kid - calling him dad ?” She shook her head in disbelief. “Look I know I haven’t known him long, but I really can’t believe he wouldn’t be thrilled by that from everything I’ve seen.”

Din was very gentle as he pushed the remaining bowl of porridge towards his son to start digging into with his little green hands, apparently giving up on the prospect of a tidy breakfast experience. Cara could see the same line of tension in his shoulders as when she’d come in. “You’re right.” He said, waspishly. “You haven’t known him long.”

Cara rolled her eyes and gave her friend a punch in the arm. The urge to make the hit land a little more solidly or to knock him from his chair for his dramatics was there, but she resisted. He’d only take it as an excuse to start a brawl to avoid the conversation, and she wasn’t about to let him have that satisfaction.

“Stop winging.” She said, enjoying the way he swore and jerked back at the light blow. “Tell us what happened so we can tell you how you’re being ridiculous.”

“Agreed.” IG said, “We cannot take appropriate action or provide appropriate support without knowing the extent of the situation.” He shifted his head about, visual sensors darting from one face to another. “Has Paz Vizla acted inappropriately towards you or the child?”

Din grumbled under their combined attention, but at length seemed to relent. “No, nothing like that.” He told IG grumpily, “I don’t actually know what happened. We were teaching Kotep how to sign, and the kid called Paz Buir and then he said he was calling it a night and sending us back to our side of the room and pulling the curtain closed.”

“Did you try communicating with him this morning to inquire on his behavior?” IG asked reasonably. He was, perhaps, the one best suited to guide them along this particular route, Cara supposed. Droid or no, he had been programmed with nursing and counselling protocols. Skills far more useful than Cara’s less than stellar experience with dead end relationships or Din’s decades long experiment on ignoring his emotions. IG at least knew at a textbook level what a healthy relationship looked like, even if he didn’t have the practical aspect down.

Din gave a low sigh, “I was going to try. He’d already gone by the time I was up.” He leaned back in his chair, watching the little happily shove fistfuls of neon orange porridge in his mouth.

“Alright.” Cara said, entirely unimpressed with the off kilter, mopey Din that she was seeing. “So track him down and hash it out. It’s not like there are a lot of places for him to hide down there. Hell, just wait for him back in your quarters, he has to come back eventually.”

“Cara has a valid point.” IG said, “Avoidance will not resolve the issue or reveal the cause of Paz Vizla’s odd behavior.”

The Mandalorian was already shaking his helmeted head before either of them had the chance to finish. “It’s not that simple.” He said, “I don’t know what bothered him, and Paz isn’t one for talk to begin with. I don’t want to start a fight and have us at each other’s throats again.”

Cara whistled. 

“Damn,” She said, “I don’t know if I’ve ever heard such a load of bantha shit in my entire life.”

It was impressive how expressive Din could be from behind the Helm when he wanted to be. The affront he managed to express in the way he straightened his spine and tilted his helmet as he looked at her. Definitely the person IG had learned from. He made a faint sputtering noise from beneath his helm, the voice modulation doing little to hide the blatant irritation he had for her brush off. Cara rolled her eyes at him.

“Look, you completely gone on him, right?” She saw the way the line of his shoulders went tense, watched as his bare hands curled into defensive fists. She shook her head at his attempt to argue. “ Don’t . We’re your Aliit Burc’ya . We may not have known you for decades like your Tribe has, but we do know you Din. Don’t insult us by saying otherwise.” 

She let silence settle after that, giving him time to think on what she’d said. After a moment his shoulders relaxed, fists uncurling. From beneath his Helm Din cleared his throat, “...Yeah. Yeah I am.”

Cara nodded, a small smile pulling at her face. It wasn’t the wide, delighted grin she had earlier, but something smaller, more sincere. She enjoyed giving Din shit and especially enjoyed teasing him about Paz, but it wasn’t a moment for teasing. 

She wasn’t good with people, too prickly, too abrupt, too angry , but Din and the rest of their rag tag bunch seemed to understand. They saw past the rage and grief, past the jagged edges she’d pulled up around her. After Aldaraan had been destroyed, she’d tried to find a place in the Rebellion and was able to get by with burying herself in blood and battle. When the Rebellion became the New Republic and there was no more war to fight in she threw herself into mercenary work. It’d been a long time since she’d had a friend by the time she met Din, longer still since she had a family when she, Kuiil and IG had been adopted into Din and the kid’s little Clan. She didn’t really know how to be those things anymore, friend and family, but she sure as hell wasn’t going to let that stop her.

“Talk to him.” She said, “I’m not saying you got to lay all your big mushy feelings for him out, but you do at least got to talk to him about what happened last night and this morning and why he’s acting the way he is.” Cara hesitated a moment, but at length reached out and set an awkward hand on Din’s shoulder, trying to be reassuring and convinced that she was failing horribly. “If he’s going to start a fight rather than talk to you, then he’s not worth it.”

IG, perhaps even more awkwardly than Cara, moved to set a metal hand on Din’s other shoulder. “I concur with Cara.” The droid said, modulated voice lowered faintly, “It is understandable if he was surprised by Kotep’s designating him as a second father, but if his reaction to discussing this fact is aggression, then your affection is perhaps better saved for someone else.”

They sat in silence like that for a moment. Din staring down at his bare hands, then looking to his son. The little one was a mess, covered from head to toe in his breakfast, dark eyes wide as he looked around at each of them. At length Din seemed to come to a decision and gave a soft sigh. “You’re right,” He said. “I’ll should talk to him about it.”

“Damn right,” Cara said, dropping her hand as she nodded. Feeling the heaviness of the mood - not terrible, all considering, but a fair bit heavier than their normal bantering and teasing. She grabbed the spoon she’d abandoned and scrapped up some of the porridge. “Now grab me some kriffing Bantha milk so I can at least attempt to survive whatever this toxic shit is you made me is.”

Din gave a low chuckle, shaking his head lightly as he rose to his feet. As he headed back to the galley to get her the milk she met IG’s gaze across the table. The droid shifted his visual sensors in an approximation of a nod, and she flashed a smile to him. An understanding settling between them, an unspoken agreement. No matter what may come for Din and his kid - Moff Gideon, whatever was happening with Paz, the jetti that the kid supposedly was apart of - they’d stand by him.

They were a Clan, after all.